The Way of Things
by DarkObsessor
Summary: [One shot] Poor Morwen has to put up with alot from Telemain and the cats. Intended as pure humor only.


I finally did it! I wrote a Morwen/Telemain one shot! Granted, it's not much, but I like it, so there. Please comment upon finishing reading, please. 

Morwen, Telemain, the kitties, and everyhing else related with The Enchanted Forest Chroncicles is copyright Patricia C. Wrede. I just use them. (Yes, I know this is an inuendo.)

* * *

Morwen surveyed the destruction that was previously to be her kitchen and resisted the urge to sigh with disgust. She also held back the sudden urge to throttle something. This had not been the first time her home had been visited by chaos. In fact, it seemed to happen more and more often since a certain magician had moved in. As her eyes swept the room, she noted that not a single cat was in sight, and of course, neither was the certain magician. No witnesses, no crime, or so was their way of thinking. They were very, very mistaken in this.

She propped her hands on her hips, and attempted to decipher who had done what.

First of all was the table, filled to the brim with odds and ends that the cats would have never touched. Examination tools of every size and shape, sample containers stacked so high as to be precariously tipped over to the side. Off to one side was a few measuring cups, some still retaining remnants of the liquid they had been used to measure. Glass tubes with their wooden supports dominated the bottom left corner, magnifying scopes held their territory in the top right. There were several unidentifiable, whirring and popping objects, scattered about, and everything had an underlying layer of books.

Morwen checked off the "Telemain" side of the damage list in her mind. She turned slightly, and examined the counters.

Here the cabinets were all exposed, their contents spilled. Dry food was strewn over the counter tops and floors, with smashed jars of liquid substances changing the floor into a wading pool of sludge. Small paw prints decorated the picture, and Morwen gave a tick to the cats. She then located the main direction of the prints, and followed them out of the door, into her garden.

What ever hell tornado had taken control of the cats, Morwen could see that they had kept enough of their senses about them to not tear up any of her important plants. No, no one was _that_ stupid. The only damage here were to her normal flower beds, with several blossoms torn up, and the trunks of two out-of-season apple trees suffered from deep gouges. Oh, more glee for her when the capers came home.

Morwen took another look around. She removed her glasses, and massaged her temples. This was so frustrating. She knew that none of the culprits were still around, and that none of them would return for a great deal of time. By then most of her real anger would be gone, to be replaced with a headache and bad mood. She was left to clean up the mess, as always, but oh, when they returned...Oh yes. When they returned, punishment would be reaped. Morwen sighed with contempt. Nothing she could do to anyone right now. She went back into the house, and started cleaning.

A few hours later, the counters had been thoroughly scrubbed and the floor was spotless once more. Everything gave off a faint whiff of lemon. Morwen would have dearly loved to turn the exact same maneuver on the table, but as she had no idea what Telemain had been doing, she did not wish to risk tampering with the items. Knowing him, something was likely to explode. Instead she went against better instincts and retired to the library, waiting for the first of the refugees to wander in.

Fiddlesticks was the first to return, proclaiming weakness from the vast hours spent without company of food. Morwen just silently shook her head, and started demanding answers for the mess in the kitchen. Morwen gave him a thorough interrogation, in which all she learned was that Fiddle had been only a small cause of the countertop damage. He did not know who had started what, nor whom all of the offenders were. He said that it only looked like a great deal of fun, and a nice opportunity to sneak some snacks. Morwen decided that Fiddlesticks was not deserving of the brunt of her anger, and merely restricted his intake of fish for a few days. Fiddle wondered off, devastated. Morwen settled back, and waited for more stragglers.

The second to troop in were also feline, Trouble and Scorn. _They_ claimed that the mess was merely the aftermath of one of the many wars they were forced to wage against That Man. Morwen understood that by saying That Man, they were making a reference to Telemain. Trouble and Scorn had been the last ones to adjust to Telemain's move, (now commonly referred to as The Invadement) if they had ever adjusted to it at all. Both still refused to call him by name. Morwen gave them a long lecture, and sent them on their way properly chastised.

Eventually, much later in the evening, Telemain made an appearance. By this time Morwen had managed to work up a strong fury, and fully unleashed it upon him. Telemain, realizing the amount of trouble he was in, forwent his previous plan of groveling like a dog, and stood there listing.

When Morwen had run out of breath, and things to say, Telemain told her the entire story.

Telemain had been conducting an experiment, when Scorn had come in and started tipping things over on the table. This alone, he said, was frustrating enough. Then Trouble started in with trying to trip Telemain up by winding himself in between his legs while he walked, eventually succeeding. In the course of the fall Telemain dropped what he had been holding, which was a vile of an extremely rare specimen of some pond sum he had taken great pains to acquire. From there he had marched off in a huff, and knew nothing of the counters and floors. Morwen surmised that in their glee, Trouble and Scorn had tried to make matters worse, dragging Fiddle into their antics.

Already planning another lecture for Trouble and Scorn tomorrow, Morwen apologized to Telemain. She was truly sorry he had lost the small vile of pond scum, and promised to help his find some more at a later date. Then she made him go clean off her table.


End file.
